9
Shouted questions and demands soon gave way to a lecture about responsibility. Normally such an onslaught would have brought Neala to tears, but not anymore. After all the lies she didn’t feel like she owed her ma anything. She sat beside the fire, back rigid and arms crossed beneath her chest. Her eyes followed her ma as she paced and ranted, gesturing wildly the whole time.
“Ye are going to drive me mad child, mad I say! Do ye really think I could stand to lose another child?”
The words were like a blow to Neala’s chest. Lorcan’s death had made Cecily quick to worry and to anger. She could hardly blame her ma, it had the same effect on Neala. And having to listen to her ma’s ranting was wearing down what little control she had. There was no sign of her da but Neala couldn’t get a word in to ask where he was.
As if her wondering had conjured him, Neala felt her da’s energy when he approached the door from outside. It surprised her that she could feel it through her ma’s chaotic power that choked the room. The door opened and her da stepped in. He was wide-eyed and pale. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead.
“How was the meetin’?” Neala’s ma asked in an unsteady voice.
With shaking hands, her da removed his cloak and hung it on a peg next to the door. “Not good,” he said.
He walked right past her ma, took a mug from the cupboard, and filled it with mead. Before he spoke again he emptied it with a few long swallows.
“Dublin has fallen,” he said.
A prickling sensation worked its way down Neala’s spine and out to her arms and legs. It was a mixture of fear and excitement that called to her power. Seeing the smoke was one thing, but hearing that Dublin had been taken was another altogether. Now people would have to do something.
“We must be ready to fight,” Neala said as she rose to her feet. The fire had become too hot and she couldn’t sit still anymore.
Hair flew free of her ma’s neat bun as she spun toward Neala and shoved a finger in her direction. Firelight crackled in her eyes, catching in the power that glowed there. “I don’t want to hear such nonsense out of ye! Ye leave such things to those responsible enough to come home before dark,” she said.
Neala flinched. That was a side of her ma she had never seen. She wouldn’t have thought she had it in her.
A loud clank echoed as her da slammed his mug down on the counter. His eyes cut toward her. “Ye did what? And just where were ye?” he demanded.
Straightening her back, Neala refused to wither beneath his glare. “I was with a friend and we lost track of the sun.”
“What friend? I haven’t met any friend of yers!”
Hands waving and gesturing, her da flew into a rant that was painfully similar to her ma’s. Again she wasn’t allowed to get a word in. It was probably a good thing considering what she wanted to say. They treated her like she was ten instead of sixteen and she was sick of it. Slowly he ran out of momentum and stopped to lean upon the kitchen counter.
“Ye’re forbidden to leave the farm until this danger passes,” he said.
“What? No! Da this danger isn’t going to pass,” Neala said.
She expected him to turn and confront her but he didn’t. Instead his shoulders slumped and he hung his head. It looked like the counter was holding him up. He knew she was right. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. Her ma turned tear-filled eyes onto Neala that sent a bolt of guilt shooting through her.
“How dare ye speak to your da like that. Of course this will pass, they won’t come inland far, they never have. Ye should not be thinking of fighting, ye should be thinking about finding a husband,” she snapped.
“Find a husband? Where? Who, or would ye have me marry a non-druid? Ye can’t be serious! We’re in danger, this is no time for such things,” Neala yelled.
“Don’t speak to yer ma like that. She’s right, a husband is exactly what ye should be focusing on right now and it shouldn’t matter whether he’s a druid or not,” her da said.
Power burned beneath Neala’s skin as though it were trying to boil her from within.
“Ma, how could ye of all people not understand after yer own family was driven from the North by the Danes. And yer daft if ye think I can find a husband among people who hate us,” Neala snapped.
Tears spilled down her ma’s pale cheeks but seeing them only made Neala madder. The lies, the denial, and then this on top of it, it was all too much. Letting out a frustrated cry, Neala stormed off to her room. Once inside she spun around when she felt the weight of her ma’s gaze. With a flick of her hand, she threw her power out and used it to slam the door shut. Just before it came between them Neala saw shock register in her ma’s eyes. Using her power in front of her ma may not have been such a great idea. Not caring, Neala turned her back to the door and fell against it.
That look on her ma’s face tore her up inside, making her want to run back out and apologize. But she couldn’t. If she didn’t stand her ground on this, then her brother had died for nothing. Why couldn’t they see that?
Her room had always been a sanctuary where she found comfort, but right now it felt small and cramped. The rock walls were cold and confining despite the cheerful dried flowers hanging here and there. Neither her bed with its fluffy quilts, or her writing desk with her scrolls, were very inviting. The shuttered window on the opposite wall drew her. She crossed the room and threw the shutters open wide.
The cool night air felt wonderful on her face and the moonlight that spilled in renewed her spirit. Whenever she felt bad the moon always helped. Sighing, she leaned on the window ledge and rested her chin on her hands. Night cloaked the land outside, giving it an air of mystery and enchantment. Neala loved the night, but now even that small pleasure was tainted for her.
Small glowing balls of light danced about the garden and trees; fairies at play. She envied their freedom and care-free life.
Why had the Danes taken Dublin? Would they be coming this way soon? Sure, it had never happened before, but then they had never come as far down the coast as Dublin either. Tears sprung up and blurred her vision so she shifted her gaze to the barn.
In a grassy paddock attached to the barn, Dubh stood sleeping. His massive head drooped and he had a hind leg cocked. His clean black coat shone in the darkness. She hoped her parents wouldn’t wonder why he was so clean. Being in more trouble was the last thing she needed.
Tomorrow she was supposed to meet with Bren. Her parents were going to keep her from him and her fight training. If she didn’t show up what would he think? All manner of things went through her mind, none of them good. She didn’t want him to worry or think badly of her, and she definitely didn’t want to fall behind in her training, especially not now. She had to do something.
The fairy lights dancing in the tree near her window gave her an idea. She went to her desk and found a sheet of parchment.
The sheets were expensive and hard to find. Neala had had this one for a while. Scrolls and books were something she prized very highly. Danes burned all the druid books and scrolls they could find, which was making them hard to come by. Her intention had been to record her family lineage on this parchment as far back as her parents could recall but she hadn’t got around to it. Now the parchment could serve a different purpose.
A careful fold of the sheet created a crease that she tore it along, freeing a small piece. In the old language, she wrote Bren a note explaining why she wouldn’t be able to meet with him. Once the ink had dried she rolled the parchment into a tiny scroll and tied a scrap of a blue hair ribbon around it to keep it closed. Then she waited.
The sound of her parents’ voices soon dropped off. Neala forced herself to wait a while longer until she was certain they had fallen asleep. Taking the small scroll, she climbed out the window and crept over to a massive oak tree. She sat cross-legged beneath the sheltering boughs and leaned against its trunk. This tree had been a favorite of hers for as long as she could remember. Power vibrated from the tree, into her back, relaxing her like the sensation of a cat purring. This tree had been here since her grandfather’s father had settled the land. Such history was worth fighting for, or at least she thought so.
Fairies with gossamer wings of every imaginable color flitted through the branches above her. They sang in voices so soft that Neala couldn’t make out the words. But she didn’t have to understand it to know it was beautiful. The fairies that weren’t singing were dancing, spinning, and twirling along the branches and about the leaves. A purple winged female floated down and alighted atop an acorn on the ground near Neala.
“
Diaduit
, little one,” Neala said.
The fairy smiled and inclined her head toward Neala. The fairy’s energy made her look like she was a glowing purple beacon in the darkness. Neala knew she was being overdramatic for thinking such things but she couldn’t help it. It felt like her parents were trying to lock her away from the world and it only made her want to experience it all the more.
To get down on the fairy’s level, Neala lay on her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. “I need a favor,” she said.
The fairy cocked her head to the side.
“Do ye know Brendan O’Donovan?”
Blond curls bounced as the fairy nodded. A sigh slid from Neala, taking a bit of stress with it. Fairies traveled a lot and her ma had told her they were drawn to druids. At least she hadn’t been lying about that. Neala held the tiny scroll out to the fairy.
“Can ye get this to him?” she asked.
The fairy beat her wings and floated up to take the scroll from Neala. It was an armload for the tiny creature. The fairy took something from her pocket. It looked like thread to Neala but to the fairy it was no doubt a rope. Weaving a few quick knots, the fairy tied the rope to both ends of the scroll and then slung it over her shoulder. She nodded to Neala and took off into the night, leaving a glowing trail behind her that quickly faded away. As she watched her go Neala could only hope the tiny creature had understood her.
10
The fairy found Neala in the barn while she was tossing hay into Dubh’s stall. She flew excited circles around her until Neala put the pitch fork down and turned to pay attention to her. She held her hand out, palm open, and the fairy landed on it. Her wings tickled Neala’s thumb as they continued to beat. White teeth flashed as the fairy gave her a huge smile. Reaching behind her, she pulled out a scroll and handed it to Neala. Neala’s heart sped up. She traded the scroll for a piece of sweet bread she had snuck out of the kitchen.
They had been making exchanges like this for two days so Neala had started to carry treats with her all the time. With the fairies’ help she and Bren had been able to keep in touch with exchanged notes; two yesterday and one today. Each was just as exciting, if not more so, than the first. Bren was continuing to train and encourage her through the notes. He described exercises of both mind and body for her to work on and she wrote back to him about her results. The writing was tiny and so hard to read it gave her a headache but she didn’t mind.
What did frustrate her was that Bren was still focusing on contemplation techniques and not actual fighting. He never came out and said it but she could tell he didn’t want her to fight. It frustrated her that he agreed with her parents on that. Being a warrior druid himself, she didn’t see how he possibly could.
As she untied the scroll, Neala walked back to where the hay bundles were stored. She sat down on a bundle in front of an open window and used the sunlight to read by. Like the others, this note was written in the old language but right away Neala could tell it was different. The greeting was formal and there was nothing about lessons. Instead he talked about the Lughnasadh festival that was taking place tomorrow at the base of the Slieve Bloom Mountains.
The festival was in honor of the harvest and it was a place where all clans came together to celebrate and mingle. It was also where many handfastings—or marriages as the invaders called them—occurred. And Bren was asking her to meet him there. That the clans were even still holding the festival was infuriating and a blatant show of their ignorance over the danger the Danes represented.
But Neala had to admit to herself that was glad it was still occurring, really glad. Maybe now she could meet with Bren in person and convince him to teach her more about how to actually fight. An intoxicating mixture of emotions tingled out from her stomach. Not seeing him yesterday or today had been frustrating.
To be asked by a boy to meet at the festival was no small thing. It meant he wanted them to attend as a couple. Neala read the scroll again to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood him. He said he looked forward to having her on his arm. Despite her frustration with him, the note sent a warm flush through her. There was no mistake. She read it a few more times anyway.
Finally it set in and she let out a small squeal as she leapt from the hay bundle. The fairy flew around her in happy circles as Neala skipped and danced through the barn.
“What am I going to wear? What shall I do with me hair? Oh! There’s so much to get ready!”
The gloom of depression that had hung over her the last few days started to lift, leaving her feeling as light as a fairy. This made two days of suffering all worth it. For the first time since they had returned from Dublin, thoughts of battles and training were pushed to the back of her mind. These celebrations were attended by all and they were not to be missed for anything. This was one thing her parents wouldn’t keep her from. She would finally get to see Bren again.
11
The scent of berries and spices was so thick in the air it coated Neala’s tongue with each breath. The last of the baked goods had been loaded into baskets and she finally had time to do her hair and figure out what to wear. As soon as her wet locks were dry she set to it. A few small braids with blue ribbon woven into them decorated her otherwise loose hair. She liked how the blue looked against the dark brown, it made it seem rich instead of boring.